Fenriz the Mighty
by TheTomFox
Summary: Fenriz was a legendary mercenary. He was known in every corner of the world and he was feared by most and respected by all. But, on one fateful day, everything went wrong, and now he wants revenge...
1. The Fall From Grace

Fenriz Dagon was a legendary warrior. He had spent his early life fighting battles for great lords, kings and queens. No matter who it was, if they had coin, he would fight. He fought in many famous battles across the land and he had fought like a devil on many occasions. He was probably the most renowned warrior in all the land, famous for his deeds. He had a long, flowing brown hair and handsome face that had never been scratched in battle. His beard was short and neatly trimmed to frame his face. His upper body was heavily muscled and he had big strong legs. He didn't tower above other men, but the aura around him simply commanded respect.

* * *

He was 20 years old then. Now he was just over 40 years old, lying down on a table in some rundown old tavern, stinking of booze. He had been a legend once, but now he was a hopeless drunk. He earned no money and his extravagant wealth was slowly being exchanged for more and more drink as the days passed. Every night, as he stared at the bottom of his tankard, he cursed this land. His life had been brilliant until he came here. He was a successful mercenary when a man approached him, claiming to be an emissary for a great lord in the land of Calradia. He claimed that he worked for a kingdom called the Kingdom of Swadia. They were having a little bit of a problem with rebels, child's play for a man like Fenriz. The man offered a large sum of money for his service, as well as offering to pay for his ship travel costs and gifting him a horse to fight on. Fenriz couldn't possibly refuse such a generous reward for such a simple task. He accepted without hesitation and the next day, he headed down to the docks and boarded the waiting ship. The ship's captain was a big brute of a man named Newnhild Doom-Sailor. He might have been a brute and much stronger than Fenriz, but he had a good brain in his head, and was wise beyond his peers, if a bit uncultured. Fenriz knew of this man. He was a renowned privateer and bounty hunter. The man was obsessive over his armour, going so far as to name several pieces of it. Everywhere he went, he always carried his large battle-axe with him, which he named Rising Tide. He also had a large eagle with him that he treated as a pet. He named it Admiral.

* * *

About halfway through the voyage to the land of Calradia, they were set upon by pirates. Doom-Sailor had a good ship, but it couldn't match the speed of the agile sea raider's ships. 3 pirate ships swiftly caught up with them, and the threw grappling hooks and boarding planks onto the ship, all the while firing their crossbows at the crew of Doom-Sailor's ship. Over half their number had fallen before the pirates even boarded. Things were not looking good for the privateers, and they got much worse when one of the pirate ships rammed into the bow of the ship at full speed to stop it and allow them to board.

* * *

Fenriz was stood defiantly on the deck of the ship, his long flowing hair wiping across his face in the strong ocean winds. He stood with his head held high, not flinching as bolts passed by within millimetres of his face, daring them to try to hit him. Doom-Sailor was also defiant in defence of his ship, but he had the sense to duck behind one of the many shields that lined the flanks of the ship. Still, despite his risky move by exposing himself so much, not a single crossbow bolt dared to even scratch him. When the third pirate ship had rammed into their ship at full speed, the crew, Doom-Sailor included, were sent stumbling and tripping from the force of the impact, but Fenriz just placed one foot in front of the other and he bared swayed from the impact. He simply stood firm as the pirates leapt aboard their vessel, and from over his shoulder he drew his trademark longsword from its sheathe on his back. He clutched the blade in his hands, bracing himself for the tide of opponents that were washing towards him. He was a mighty warrior and a veteran of countless battles, that didn't mean he didn't sweat in anticipation of it. Even now he felt a single bead of sweat trickling slowly down his face. He felt the growing amount of sweat accumulating in the palm of his hands. He clutched the blade tighter now, wary of losing his grip. He stood alone, against the pirates, as the rest of the crew cowered back behind him. One pirate charged recklessly forwards towards them, and in one fluent moment, Fenriz's sword was brought around in a smooth arc and the man's head bounced and rolled on the deck of the ship before his body crumpled to the deck, taking several seconds for it to realise it was now without a head. The pirates halted their sudden advance now. They knew who the large man was that stood against them. They knew who he was and they were afraid. The two crews, the privateers and the pirates, stood at opposite ends of the ship, staring each other down. The captain of one of the pirate ships and the obvious leader of these sea raiders saw the sudden halt of their attack and strode confidently onto the ship, yelling at his men.

"What the mighty Leviathan are you maggots doing?! Our objective is to plunder their goods and slaughter them all. So why are you just standing there gawking at them like idiots?!" He screamed.

Only now did he notice why they were staring. Only now did he see Fenriz. The sea raider wasn't the smartest of pirates, and thought that if he could beat the legendary Fenriz in single combat, he would improve the morale of his men and they would be more inclined to follow his orders. And as news spread of his glorious victory, he would be feared everywhere for his combat skills. As he dreamt of fame and glory, he grinned as he called a challenge to Fenriz. Fenriz only nodded slightly and grunted in agreement. The two began to slowly circle each other, swords at the ready, waiting for the other to make a move and kill them quickly. The pirate was visibly pumped for the combat, but Fenriz remained indifferent, emotionless. He made a sudden overhead strike and the sea raider went to parry the blow but the move was a feint and Fenriz pulled the sword away from the sea raider and brought it round into a horizontal slash, lightning fast. The sea raider gasped in fear as Fenriz's face came within inches of his own. He barely dared to move. He stood almost completely still, save for a small tremble that ran through his whole body. Unbidden, blood began to flow between his lips and down his chin before dripping onto the deck. A dark red line formed on the lower section of his tunic and rapidly expanded. Fenriz growled at him as the man coughed and a fine mist of blood sprayed from his mouth and more blood ran through his lips. He bent over from the pain and fell sideways, dead. Fenriz took one calm step forward and cleaned his blade on the back of the man's tunic were it was clean of blood. Their he stood and stared at the now terrified pirates. Doom-Sailor walked behind him, his battle-axe ready in his hands and Admiral resting calmly on his shoulder. Doom-Sailor yelled "Charge!" to his men and they yelled and ran towards the pirates, hatchets and cutlasses drawn. As they yelled, Admiral shrieked out a mighty call to reflect their honourable valour. All of the pirates attempted to run back to their ships, most were caught as their friends pushed and shoved to get to safety first, some got to safety. The privateers decided not to waste precious life finishing off the pirates. The pirates only had a skeleton crew, barely enough for one ship. The privateers sailed on to Calradia, leaving the pirates to try to make it back to dry land with the small numbers they had left. The privateers could not afford to give their lost brethren a grand send off, but they followed tradition and threw their bodies into the sea, hoping that they would find more peace in the great sea beyond the world than they did in this life.

* * *

They sailed for 2 months before washing up on the shores of Calradia, near the Swadian capital of Praven. There, he went to the grand castle and signed up to join the Swadian force to help put down the rebellion. That night, he was the honoured guest of King Harlaus, the king of Swadia. They sat in the grand hall of his castle in Praven, and they feasted and drank the whole night away. The ladies of the court all vied for the attention of Fenriz, all of them undoubtedly attracted to his good looks and his charming personality, but he did not seek their love. Even the king offered his cousin's daughter to Fenriz so the two could marry, but Fenriz politely turned down the proposition. At the end of the night, they all retired to their rooms and Fenriz was gifted a room in the castle, rather than a dingy room in the barracks down in the town. Fenriz slept easy that night, but he was constantly alert, something he had been trained to do since he was born.

* * *

In the morning, he was escorted down to the armoury where he was given brand new plated greaves, a full-face helmet, plated gauntlets, a heavy chainmail vest and a thick coat of plates. He also picked up a new shield should there be an instance where he needed it. From there, he was taken down to the stables, where he was gifted one of the king's prize warhorses as a gift and the horse had a coat of plates as armour. He tied the shield to the saddle and mounted up. He rode to the head of the column, and he rode his new horse with the cavalry, just behind the king. Behind the cavalry was the infantry in alternating blocks of trained foot soldiers and local militia from Praven, men who were little more than farmers given crossbows and clubs to fight in defence of their country. The marched east for a day, staying at the Swadian city of Suno for the night, and when they moved out again the following morning, they were joined by more footmen and militia from the garrison at Suno. Then they spent 2 days marching south, to the city of Uxhall. When they arrived, they met with the other lords of Swadia, who had gathered their forces and assembled here in preparation for the assault on the rebels. There was around 1,000 men gathered here, ready for combat, of which 150 were fully trained Swadian knights. Fenriz was in the hall in the castle overlooking the city when he witnessed King Harlaus receiving news that the southern territories had fallen as the rebels had taken control of the three major towns in the south: Yalen, Jelkala and most recently, Veluca. They had also seized control of the many castles and villages that dotted the area. Scouts reported that the rebels had been gathering in force at the river, just south of Uxhall, where they were now. King Harlaus' face had been going purple with rage, but now it's normal colour returned and a broad grin spread across his face.

"Good." He told the man who had given him the report, "Then we will crush the majority of this rebellion in a battle at the river and the rest will quickly follow as we push south and regain our territory."

The next day, the full force of the Swadian military gathered on the north side of a great river, watching the rebels who were gathered on the south side. Over 1,000 Swadian warriors laughed at the pitiful display of power shown by the rebels. Fenriz's trained eye counted a little over 400 poorly trained and poorly equipped farmers opposing them. Had the rebellion lost many men taking the south? They couldn't possibly have taken all of the land with around 400 men of that level of skill and equipment, especially with highly trained Swadians acting as garrison. Instinct told Fenriz that something was off, and he always trusted his instinct. The rebels were carrying poorly made spears and the occasional spiked club, but where was the weapons and armour of the Swadian soldiers they had killed? Surely they would have looted something as valuable as that to use against the Swadians? He put the thought to one side and moved with the rest of the cavalry to the northern bank of the river. The militia spread out on the right and left flanks and loaded their crossbows. The footmen filled the gaps between the cavalry and the militia, ready to charge forward and finish off the rebels in close combat after the cavalry disrupt their lines with a devastating charge. The horses whined nervously as the riders tried to calm them with soothing words and gentle pats. The water of the river raged as it flowed quickly as if it was eager to leave the river before the battle commenced. Footmen stood stock still, holding their neat ranks, trained into them from an early age. The militia's ranks were not neat and the untrained men shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Fenriz felt the familiar trickle of sweat rolling down his face. His pulled off his helmet and tied it quickly to the saddle. The wind blew and his long hair fluttered gently in the breeze. It was so stuffy in the helmet and the sweat was starting to sting his eyes. The lords of Swadia gathered off to the left flank, and only they were confident in their victory. They would charge forwards when the enemy were broken and they could get glory when there was the smallest possible danger to their safety. The King gave the order and a man to his right raised a horn to his lips and he emptied his lungs of air as he blew into the horn. The sound of the horn was the signal and as one, the men on horseback drove their heels into the flanks of their warhorses and the line of Swadian cavalry thundered forward. The charged through the river, the currents slowing them, but not stopping them. The rebels, upon seeing the Swadian charge, ran back as fast as they could, up into the mountains behind them. The river slowed the Swadians enough to allow the rebels to fall back enough to reach a valley in the mountains. As the Swadian cavalry reached the southern bank of the river, the remainder of the Swadian force advanced, marching slowly across the ford in the river, and the cavalry continued their charge, eager to catch up the rebels and kill them before they had the chance to escape. The cavalry swiftly covered the plains on the south side of the river, entering the valley not too long after the rebels. But the valley was narrow and they all bunched up close together to fit in. They could see the rebels now, and they were holding position, ready to meet the oncoming cavalry charge. The sun was just rising above the high mountainous walls of the valley, and in the corner of his eye, Fenriz noticed something reflecting high on the mountain top. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The object that was reflecting the sunlight was the tip of a crossbow bolt. Before he could yell out in alarm, around 500 rebels hidden on the mountains overlooking the valley fired their crossbows and the bolts rained in on the helpless cavalry. They were bunched up so close that accuracy was not a problem. Cavalrymen were mowed down in their droves as hell rained down on them. The horses were too big to simply wheel around and run back. They had blocked each other in.

Around 250 of the 300 cavalrymen went down from the rebel ambush. Fenriz would have been amongst them had he not brought that shield with him. When the bolts let fly, he tore the shield free of the knot he had used to tie it to his saddle and raised it to protect the majority of his body. Unfortunately, it didn't protect all of his body and one bolt punctured his armour and stuck into his leg. The shield shattered from the sheer number of bolts hitting it. His warhorse also took several hits from the bolts, the high power at which they were fired rendering the armour useless. The horse collapsed dead under the force of the bolts, landing on top of Fenriz who had caught his foot in the stirrup and failed to jump clear. The dead horse's body crushed his leg and drove the bolt deeper. He bit his lip to stop from screaming and he felt the metallic taste of blood fill his mouth. The rebel footmen were charging now, finishing off the Swadians before they had a chance to rise. Most of the riders were dead now and all of the horses had died. The rebels had an easy job of stabbing all of them before they could rise. Those who managed to get up in time to fight back usually took down a couple before being overwhelmed and cut down themselves. Fenriz braced himself against the pain as he pulled his leg free. His eyes watered from the pain and he wiped them quickly to clear his vision. A rebel had seen him try to rise and he was now dashing towards him as fast as he could, his crude spear ready to finish him off. Fenriz forced himself to get to his feet and drew his longsword and cut the man down in one smooth motion. The momentum of the man's run made his body go passed Fenriz, despite the deep cut on his chest, just below the arm. The man was dead before he hit the floor. Several rebels saw the commotion and rushed over to deal with this warrior, hoping to use the same strategy that they had used for dealing with all of the Swadians that managed to rise: to cut him down using superior numbers. Fenriz knew that the full Swadian force was still a while away and they too would walk into this ambush should they not be warned. But rebels blocked the way they had come in, sealing them inside the valley. Fenriz raised his sword, ready, as 4 rebels slowly circled him. This was bad as there was always 1 man behind him, no matter which way he faced. Fortunately, he saw something in the eye of the man facing him and instinct told him to duck. He hadn't trusted his instinct and it had landed him here, he was going to follow its advice this time. He ducked down as a crude iron sword came swinging into the space where his neck had been only moments ago. He drove his elbow back and it landed in the gut on the man behind him, winding him. He seized the opportunity and swung his sword around in a wide, circular arc and it cut the man behind him across the head, sending him flying. It also caught the man standing to his left and split him at the waist. Only 2 rebels left for now, but he saw several others rushing over to help fight him. Grimly, he launched a flurry of blows at the 1 opponent and the man was driven back under the force and amount of blows. For each blow the man blocked, 2 more got through his defence. Eventually, he collapsed from blood loss. The last rebel facing Fenriz saw his friend die and he dropped him weapon and fell to his knees in fear, surrendering. Fenriz was not a man of mercy or pity and he raised his sword above his head and made ready to strike him down. But in that instant, a crossbow bolt hit him in the waist and he bent over from the pain. Seconds later, when he had recovered from the shock and stood up straight again, another crossbow bolt hit him across the face, leaving a deep cut across his left cheek that would scar his formerly perfect face forever. He ducked away from the pain as the rebel picked up his weapon and stood. Before he could block the blow, the rebel rammed the spear into Fenriz's shoulder. The spear went all the way through and Fenriz dropped his longsword and collapsed to his knees. The rebel pulled a crude spiked club from his belt and made ready to bludgeon the defenceless Fenriz to death. At the last minute, a voice stopped him. Fenriz was still on his knees when a rebel who looked better trained and better equipped than the rest approached him. He crouched next to Fenriz and spoke to him a calm, almost polite manner.

"Greetings. You fought well, my friend." He said. "My name is Graveth."

So he was the leader of the rebellion. Fenriz was starting to lose consciousness and he was ashamed. This was his first loss in his entire life. The rebels fired off another volley as his vision faded. The main Swadian force had walked straight into the same trap.

* * *

And so the Swadians lost a great battle and the kingdom of the Rhodoks was born. Fenriz had lost his first battle and spent several months in a prison in Veluca. He spent a vast amount of his fortune to buy his freedom and then travelled the land of Calradia, moving from tavern to tavern. He spent the rest of his fortune buying ale for himself and drinking his life away. From the day of that fateful battle onwards, he housed a bitter hatred for both the Rhodoks and the Swadians. And now he was here: lying on a table in a tavern, stinking of booze, and cursing this land. His life had been so great, but now that life was gone. Absentmindedly, he stroked the scar that covered the majority of his left cheek. As he cursed the Swadians and the Rhodoks alike, he had an idea. He would very much like to show these two factions how to fight a battle. But for that, he would need an army. He was liking where this line of thinking was going. It was time to start recruiting. Soon, he would have his revenge…


	2. Reforging His Name

Fenriz had spent the last 2 months in the land of the Nords, moving from town to town seeking taverns. He had done a complete loop of their territory in that time and he was in the Nordic capital of Sargoth when he had the idea to enact his revenge. He had very little money left at this time and the only armour he had left was an old battered tunic and an old battered shield which was little more than several planks of wood that was only just held together with several strips of leather. He had also lost his famous longsword when he was imprisoned and now he was left with an old, rusting one handed sword which he'd claimed in as a prize in a bar brawl down in Tulga. He'd also managed to acquire a crossbow as well, though currently its bolts were spent. The crossbow was a cheap, peasant's weapon, but it did its job. Fenriz contemplated stealing a horse to aid in his journey, but he hadn't sunk that low just yet. He walked out of the gates of Sargoth and travelled south-east, to the small village of Fenada. There he approached several villagers and asked if they would like to join him on his quest. Most turned him down, proclaiming him to be a mad man. 3 farmers recognised him and decided to follow him on his adventure. Fenriz was quite upset that few people had recognised his face. True, his long, flowing hair was now matted and covered with mud and other unknown flakes of dirt. His scar ruined his previously perfect face and his muscly physique had somewhat reduced in his time away from combat, but he could still hold his own in a fight. Still, 3 farmers who had never held a weapon before in their lives might not be the legions of well-trained soldiers that he would need to completely destroy 2 kingdoms, but it was a start. From here, he would have to train them and fight in battles to regain his former fame, which would draw more men and women to his cause. And so he trained them. He travelled south again with his small band of followers, and every night they would set up camp and train. He had very little money left and so he could not afford to buy new weapons and armour for his men, so he trained them to use the farming equipment they had brought with them as weapons. They were in no way ideal, but they would do.

* * *

For 2 weeks he trained them in at their camp each night, and in that time they knew how to utilise their equipment as weapons, but as mighty a warrior as Fenriz had been, he couldn't make them professionals in mere weeks and with training along. So when they began travelling north to resupply at Wercheg, the northern-most territory of the Nords, and they were ambushed by a stranded band of Sea Raiders, a unique opportunity presented itself. As Fenriz had been taught since he could wield a blade, anyone can be a good teacher but experience is a better teacher by far. So instead of retreating in the face of this band of brigands, he engaged them head-on, despite fear clinging to the hearts of his band of followers. There were only 6 Sea Raiders to Fenriz's 4, including himself, but the Sea Raiders were better equipped with razor sharp one-handed axes and strong shields, and most wore chain mail vests. Some of the Sea Raiders only had thick fur coats, but even they could dull a slash and protect the wearer. In comparison, Fenriz and his followers wore standard civilian clothing and each farmer had his own unique weapon. One used a small one-handed sickle, another used a rake, and the third used a scythe. Fenriz was the best equipped out of his troops, despite his sword being rusted and his shield barely managing staying together.

Fenriz and his men lined up on a hill overlooking rather hilly terrain with mounds and bumps everywhere. In the distance, they saw the Sea Raiders, charging boldly towards them. They could just about hear the fierce roar escaping one of the Sea Raiders lips, his voice carrying easily on the gentle wind. The 3 farmers shuddered at the thought of 6 men who were more like armoured bears about to tear them to pieces and each shuffled nervously from foot to foot. Fenriz noted their reactions and sought to ease their nerves. He had slaughtered countless Sea Raiders before, sometimes single-handedly, but he had to let these farmers fight so they could learn to fight for real on the battlefield, without putting them in harm's way. That task was virtually impossible to do. He took several long strides to place himself in from of his men and began pacing up and down the short line they formed, shrugging his battered shield down from his back and onto his arm. As he paced one way, he watched the Sea Raiders approaching rapidly, and when he walked the other way, he looked into the eyes of each of his men. In each of their eyes he saw fear.

"Fools." He said to his men, his voice barely above a whisper. "Men, do you see how they sprint towards us? Fools. They're wearing themselves out. And wearing all that armour and thick fur coats will mean they will be panting for breath when they reach us. They may be better trained than you and better equipped, but they haven't been taught by me. We will crush them with no mercy as they charge at us, on the brink of exhaustion. And we have the high ground!"

Fenriz had never given a speech before, but he thought he had done well. The more he said, the louder his voice became and the more confident his words were. At the end of the short speech, he was practically bellowing the words as the lion within him that had been suppressed for long inside let itself be seen again. For one moment, he was the legendary Fenriz the mighty once more. As he roared the last words, his men drew their weapons and their fear vanished. They let out their own mighty roars and the sounds of the approaching Sea Raiders were drowned out. Upon hearing the roar from the defiant farmers, the Sea Raiders hesitated in their advance, uncertain now that the farmers wouldn't meekly surrender. But they were Sea Raiders, scourges of the sea, and they didn't hesitate long. They continued on their fearless charge. Fenriz watched the Sea Raiders and bent down low to pick up a sizable stone. He felt its weight in his hands and threw it up a small distance before catching it again a few times, gauging distances and power. As the Sea Raiders reached the base of the hill, he raised his sword high above him and the farmers bent their knees slightly into a small crouch, and lowered their weapons ready to fight. When the Sea Raiders were half way up the hill, Fenriz hefted the rock and threw it as hard as he could at the Sea Raider in the lead, and the rock flew lightning fast across the distance between them. The rock hit the man straight in the head at full speed. The Sea Raider that it hit wore a skullcap, but it offered little protection as the rock hit the man and his skull caved in around it. A fine red mist spurted from his nose as the rock entered his face and crushed it. He collapsed backwards, being lifted off his feet from the force of the blow, knocking into the man behind him, and both of them went sprawling down the hill. This left 4 men currently charging up the hill. Without warning, Fenriz sprung from his position and leapt into the running marauders. They were caught off-guard by this move and he managed to slice into the neck of one man before he could get his guard up. 3 left. The man at the bottom of the hill was steadily regaining his feet now, and before long, he would join in the combat. 2 of the Sea Raiders at the top of the hill engaged Fenriz, seeing him as having the most battle prowess, and only 1 of them engaged the 3 farmers, sensing the farmers to fall like wheat to a scythe. That was ironic, as it was a scythe that ended his existence, cutting a deep gash across his stomach, spilling his innards onto the dirt. Fenriz parried a blow from one Sea Raider and sliced the arm of the other, rending his shield arm useless. With fancy footwork, he pushed the advantage against the wounded raider, forcing the man to scramble backwards under a flurry of blows. Eventually, the man dropped to his knees under the sheer number of cuts that covered his body, each placed with a surgeon's precision. He just knelt there, on the verge of death, seeing his friend dispatched so easily, the other Sea Raider charged Fenriz, charging on the offensive. He failed to notice that Fenriz blocked each attack with increasing ease and didn't seem to tired whereas the Sea Raider's arms began to feel heavier and heavier with each unsuccessful blow. In a last ditch effort, he brought his axe around in a powerful overhead strike, but Fenriz knocked the blow aside and the Sea Raider lost his grip on his axe. He hastily pulled a crude knife from his belt and desperately tried to stab Fenriz, but Fenriz deflected the blow to the side once more and the blade plunged into the neck on the Sea Raider who was still on his knees. Both of the Sea Raiders' eyes went wide as they realised what had happened. The thought didn't last long. With a powerful blow, Fenriz slashed his sword at the standing Sea Raider's neck and severed it all the way to his spinal cord. The man watched his friend die as the more blood sprayed thickly over the knife, the last of his life's essence spilling onto the floor as he collapsed. With a start, Fenriz realised that there had been another Sea Raider who should have engaged them by now, but when he wheeled around, he saw 3 farmers smiling broadly at him, blood coating each of their weapons, and a mangled corpse behind them. Fenriz couldn't suppress a smile of pride as his band of farmers won their first victory.

* * *

After the battle, Fenriz made his men salvage what they could he upgraded all of their equipment with what they took. Now, they were equivalent to standard Nordic footmen, wearing thick fur coats, skullcaps and equipped with a standard sword, a spear and a good quality shield, one of which Fenriz took for himself. He too armoured himself in a similar fashion to his men, but he kept his own weapons, with the exception of a better sword which he looted from a corpse. All other equipment, they loaded onto a wagon which also carried their camping gear, to sell at market in the next town they arrived at.

They set out once again, walking through another village and purchasing some more food supplies and adding 2 more farmers to their cause. As Fenriz's small band grew, they headed back to Sargoth, encountered the occasional band of Sea Raiders, who never numbered more than 5 men. With each of these encounters, Fenriz's men gained experience and became more experienced. When they reached the gates of Sargoth, the footmen were still the same, but the additional 2 farmers had been given hide vests and hunting bows, and were now the same as Nordic huntsmen, with a decent degree of accuracy. From each victory, the band had gained more loot and now their wagon was filled to the brim with goods to sell. Fenriz took the loot to market and sold most of it, keeping the food supplies for their own use, with the exception of the rotting meat, which was sold for very little, but every denar counted. Now that Fenriz had a couple of hunters in his band of followers, food was less important to buy as they could hunt for game and they could easily sell off the scraps when they reached the next town. After selling the loot, Fenriz roamed the town and went to a weapon-smith and bought a quarrel of bolts for his crossbow. Now he felt he was ready to hunt bigger bands of foes. He still stood no chance of taking on a lord and their army with his small band of followers, so mercenary work was out of the question, but he knew that in the north-east, in the land of the Vaegirs, tundra bandits roamed wildly in large bands, sometimes with more than 50 men. Such hordes of bandits were still too large to take on and would ensure heavy casualties for his band, but there were several groups of large numbers that he would be able to take them on with large amounts of loot to be gained. And when he added 3 more Nord farmers to his warband, who quickly became Nordic footmen after several successful battles on smaller bandit groups, he felt a lot more confident in taking on the larger groups.

* * *

Across the battlefield, charging out of the woodlands, came 34 tundra bandits, firing their arrows as they ran.

"Infantry! Shields up!" Fenriz bellowed.

As one, his Nordic Footmen raised their shields in front of them. Seconds later, a storm of arrows smacked against the solid wood of their shields with brutal force. But the shields held and so too did the men. Behind the shield wall, the 2 Nordic Huntsmen stabbed their quivers into the snowy ground in front of them and pulled 1 arrow each free from the others. They nocked their arrows and pulled the bowstring back until their fingertips touched their ears. The raised their bows to aim above the heads of the footmen and waited for the order to fire. Their breath misted before them, and all of Fenriz's warriors were glad for the thick fur coats that they all wore now. The huntsmen aimed and waited obediently for the order to be given.

"Hold…" Fenriz commanded as the tundra bandits charged closer, loosing another torrent of arrows at his small band of men. Again they smashed the line's solid shields with no effect. The band did not move. They were too disciplined for that.

"Hold…" Fenriz repeated. He waited. And waited. Until it was time. "Loose!"

Already eager for the order, the huntsmen released their arrows almost instantly. The 2 arrows flew easily on the cold morning's breeze and found their mark. Both arrows hit the same bandit, one in his throat and the other in his shoulder. The force of the arrows forcing him to the ground where he lay dying, staining the pure white snow red. The bandits were now merely metres away and the huntsmen nocked another arrow each. But the tundra bandits were quicker and unleashed another rushed volley before discarding their bows and storming towards the footmen, drawing their clubs and maces and swords and daggers. The footmen braced as the tide launched forwards into their line and they pushed back several inches, snow crumbling and building up behind them. The line started to bow in the middle under the weight of bodies, but the men held strong. Behind them, Fenriz raised his voice again.

"Push!"

As one, the line flicked their shields up, knocking the bandits stumbling backwards. Seizing the initiative, the Nord Footmen thrust their spears forward. Those in front of the bandit horde found themselves impaled on the crude Nordic spear tips, their guts spilling onto the snow before them. The footmen left their spears in the bellies of their enemies and drew their Nordic swords which were less cumbersome and much better suited for the close-quarters combat that this battle was about to descend into. The rear lines of the charging tundra bandits threw javelins into the fray, which crashed into Nordic shields or plunged into their allies from behind. The Nords replied with 2 more arrows flying over the heads of the combatants and into the bodies of the javelin throwers. In the front of the line, the ill-trained and ill-equipped bandits were dropping like flies against the trained blades of Fenriz's band, the man himself personally cutting down 4 in a quick flurry of left and right blows. The enemy were down to 19 men now and several began to break away from the combat in retreat. As they fled, they were hounded each step of the way by arrows that always struck in pairs. Men dropped to the ground as arrows drove themselves straight through their bodies or into the rear of their skulls, their basic armour offering little protection. One of the Nords slipped on the ice made of blood and fell with an almighty crash to the ground. The bandits leapt on the opportunity and hacked into the unfortunate man without remorse. He was carved up by a combination of hatchets and falchions before his friends could pull him behind the shield wall. His innards were quickly exposed to the extreme cold of the tundra, his fur coat offering him little protection against such brutality and barbarism. A second Nord took a hefty blow to the head from a club that was more of a tree-trunk than a normal bludgeon, but his skullcap protected him and saved his life, but at the cost of being unconscious for the rest of the battle. He was hauled behind the shield wall and they all huddled closer together to hold out against the remaining bandits. 5 minutes later, the battle was over as Fenriz slashed his sword quickly left, opening the throat of the last standing bandit. The others were either dead or dying. The Nords had only suffered the one loss and the unconscious footman was steadily regaining consciousness. One man may not seem like much, but he was like a brother to the others in the small warband, and his loss was a devastating one.

Fenriz planted the fallen footman's spear into the ground and placed his sword into his cold, dead hands.

"Lets us bury our fallen brother…" Fenriz commanded solemnly. "Then loot the bandit corpses and burn them."

* * *

The footmen were all experienced enough in combat to now be considered to be Nordic trained footmen, and the 2 huntsmen looted the bandits' short bows as a replacement for their own hunting bows, and equipped some heavier armour, but still light. They were equal to standard Nordic archers now, both in terms of equipment and skill. Fenriz's warband may only have numbered 7 men, but they were good, solid men that Fenriz knew and trusted. And with every battle they won, they increased in renown. Even now, in the great cities of Sargoth, Praven, Shariz, Jelkala, Tulga and Reyvadin, whispers were heard that the once-great, once-dishonoured Fenriz the Mighty was surfacing once more, fresh from the fiery pits of hell. There were mentions of a sword the size of a horse, or a crossbow the size of a ballista. Some say he led a group of men who had been trained in combat by the devil himself others say that Fenriz was the devil. Regardless of how crazy the story was, one key fact remained in all of them: Fenriz was alive and killing once again.

* * *

One week later, Fenriz and his warband arrived at the small village of Ismirala, just east of Ismirala castle, and were instantly welcomed as heroes. The villagers rushed out of their huts and houses to greet him and his men. He was both respected for all of his past deeds, as well as for cleansing the tundra bandit horde that had been troubling them recently. While it had not been his intention to wipe out the bandits for the good of the village, Fenriz made no moves to correct them. All around them, men, women and children volunteered to enter his ranks, but he politely declined them all. He looked west and spied Ismirala castle sitting in the distance. He had no use of these people. However, he had just spied a castle that he would like to be the foundation of his future kingdom. He had no need for these people… yet.


End file.
